


Butter, Eh?

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Holiday: Other, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Blair prepares Thanksgiving dinner, Jim distracts him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Butter, Eh?

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this came from a friend named Steve K. (aka the Kamikaze Punster), based on his comments on my grandmother's method of preparing turkey.

## Butter, Eh?

by SuzanLynne

Author's disclaimer: The usual stuff -- not mine, no profit made, no harm, no foul, and I'll put them back when I'm done. The title and the quote at the end are borrowed from A.A. Milne, also without permission.

* * *

"So is everything going to be ready for tonight, Chief?" Jim asked, coming up close behind Blair. Ever since they'd become lovers, he'd been doing that, seeing how close he could get to Blair without actually touching him, because he knew it drove Blair a little wild. 

But right now Blair wasn't going to let himself be distracted. He was two minutes away from finishing the prep work on their Thanksgiving turkey, and if he wanted the answer to Jim's question to be yes, he'd have to ignore the close proximity of Jim's body. 

As well as the fingers that had slipped underneath his hair to caress the nape of his neck. "Jim, if you keep doing that, the turkey won't be ready until next week." 

"I could live with that," Jim said. 

"Well, I can't," Blair retorted, sidestepping away from Jim and going to the stove to retrieve the small saucepan sitting on a front burner. "I've been working on this dinner for two days now, and I won't have it ruined." 

He turned back to the bird, but Jim stood in his way, eyeing the contents of the pan. "Isn't that an awful lot of butter, Chief?" 

"Not according to Joel's wife." At the previous year's post-Thanksgiving party, which Joel Taggart had hosted, Blair had sampled Joel's wife's turkey, finding it to be uncommonly moist and tasty. He'd asked her secret, had been somewhat horrified by the unhealthfulness of her answer, then had decided that for a once-a-year meal, one could live a little dangerously. 

"Her turkey was good," Jim agreed. 

"She said the key to keeping a turkey moist is to make sure it's, um, well-lubricated." 

Jim laughed. "Well-lubricated? I can handle that." His sky-blue eyes twinkled as he dipped two fingers into the lukewarm butter, painted a line down Blair's cheek, then licked it away, both tender and playful. 

"Jim!" Blair protested. "The turkey!" 

"So we eat late," Jim said. "It's just two of us." 

"That sounds promising," Blair said, getting into the spirit of things. "Just the two of us, all alone, nowhere we have to be, nothing we have to do --" 

"Except love each other," Jim added, his voice husky and seductive. He dipped his fingers into the butter again, this time smearing some on Blair's lips, then covered those lips with his own. 

Blair was always surprised by how soft Jim's lips were. They always looked so hard, twisted and stretched into a tight line of disapproval, but when they touched Blair's lips or his skin, they became soft, yielding, gentle. 

He could taste the sweetness of the butter and the heady flavor that could only be described as "Jim." And he surrendered, no longer caring about dinner, wanting nothing other than Jim. 

Jim's hands had moved to Blair's shirt, undoing the buttons and pushing the fabric aside. He stopped just long enough to take the pan from Blair's hand and set it safely on the counter, then his hands returned to Blair's chest, playing with the thick hair there, then pinching his nipples lightly. 

A low groan rumbled in Blair's throat, though it couldn't really escape past their joined lips. His hands roved over Jim's chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath the soft flannel shirt, then reached around to knead the taut globes of Jim's ass. 

Jim broke the kiss long enough to growl in Blair's ear. "I want you -- now!" He stepped away from his lover and began divesting himself of his clothing. 

Blair started to shrug out of his shirt, but Jim stopped him with a look and a gesture. "My job, Chief." 

And moments later, having set what Blair was sure was some kind of record for stripping off clothes, Jim's hands were on his shoulders, pushing his shirt back and off. 

Jim nibbled at Blair's neck, causing the younger man's back to arch and sending hot blood straight to his groin. One of Jim's long, strong arms circled behind Blair's back, pulling him in close, pressing naked hairy chest to naked hairless one, while his other hand slipped down to cup the erection prisoned behind the faded denim of Blair's jeans. Then, as Blair wriggled against that hand, it unsnapped his jeans and teased the zipper down. 

Blair yanked Jim's head down to his level so he could nip along the edge of Jim's left ear. His tongue lapped at Jim's earlobe, running repeatedly over the tiny indentation where Jim had once worn an earring. 

Now it was Jim's turn to groan, and he tugged and pushed almost frantically at Blair's jeans, working them over Blair's hips and down to about mid-thigh, but rather than loose his hold on the younger man to finish the job, he snagged the jeans with the toes of one foot and pulled them the rest of the way down. 

Jim turned Blair around and leaned him over the kitchen counter, using his forearm as a cushion between Blair's body and the hard counter edge. He did the fingers of his other hand into the now-congealing butter, then began working the first of them into the tight ring of muscle that was Blair's anus. 

One finger, then two, then three, all with a liberal application of warm butter. When one of those probing fingers finally brushed against his prostate, Blair moaned. "Need you, Jim -- now!" The words were half plea, half demand. 

"Just a minute, Chief," Jim assured him, turning once more to the pot of butter and greasing his cock. 

Jim started to enter Blair, slowly and carefully, but Blair was in no mood to be patient. He shoved himself backward, impaling himself fully on Jim's cock with a grunt of pain, followed by a contented sigh. 

"Ready?" Jim asked, his breath hot against the back of Blair's head. 

"Any more ready and I'm gonna explode." 

Jim thrust into Blair, setting up a steady driving rhythm, as precise and even as only Jim could make it. Blair himself was nearly insensible, and he grew even more so with every one of Jim's thrusts. Jim was scoring regularly on Blair's prostate now, sending waves of pleasure crashing through his body, pushing him to the edge of insanity. 

And damnit, Jim was going to join him on that brink. It wasn't easy to make Jim lose control completely, but it was possible, and Blair considered every time he managed it a special personal victory. 

Blair clamped down hard on Jim's cock, eliciting a sound from his throat that was part groan, part gasp, part growl. 

Blair could feel Jim's control dissolving. The rhythm of Jim's thrusts became wilder, more frantic, more erratic. He reached around and seized Blair's cock with his free hand, pumping it in furious counterpoint to his thrusting. 

"Jim! Oh, God, Jiiiiiim!" Or at least that's what Blair thought he was yelling; he was in no shape to be sure as he slipped over the precipice and started to fall. 

He came in long spurts, spraying hot semen over his belly and chest, over Jim's hand, over the cabinet fronts. 

Jim growled again, low in his throat, and came himself, spilling his seed deep inside Blair. At the moment of his climax, he bit down on the side of Blair's neck, not hard enough to really hurt, especially with Blair's hair cushioning the bite, but hard enough to mark, claiming Blair as his. 

"I love you, too," Blair murmured, understanding the meaning of Jim's gesture. 

"I know, Blair," Jim answered, using the name he so seldom used, the name he reserved for special moments. 

They stood there together, unmoving and silent, until Jim said quietly and a little regretfully, "We'd better get cleaned up so you can get the turkey in the oven." 

Ever practical was Blair's lover. Or almost so. "One problem, Jim. We're gonna need more butter." 

"You expect me to find someplace that's open on Thanksgiving, Chief?" Jim sounded disbelieving. 

Yes, he did, just not alone. "No, we'll look together," Blair said. "Just like always." 

_Fin_

"The King's Breakfast" 

The Queen took  
The butter  
And brought it to  
His Majesty;  
The King said,  
"Butter, eh?"  
And bounced out of bed,  
"Nobody," he said,  
As he kissed her,  
Tenderly,  
"Nobody," he said,  
As he slid down  
The bannisters,  
"Nobody,  
My darling,  
Could call me  
A fussy man --  
 **BUT**

I do like a little bit of butter to my bread." 

  * A. A. Milne from _When We Were Very Young_




End file.
